An Unexpected Surprise
by She-Elf4
Summary: A Halloween one-shot, inspired by Sweeney Todd. While serving on board the Death Star, Lieutenant Commander Piett gets an unexpected visit from his overzealous commanding officer, Tarkin. What is Tarkin up to? What does Vader have to do with it? Piett has to find out, along with a way out of this mess, before his neck ends up being the next one stretched! Blood and black humor.


Piett was going through his usual nighttime routine, trying to calm his racing mind. He knew working on board a station like the Death Star would not be very easy, but he hadn't expected his commanding officer to be quite so...overzealous. Yes, Tarkin was a brilliant military tactician, but he tended to forget that his targets were actual people. (Of course, if you asked Tarkin, Piett was too soft.) And now they were headed to Alderaan, a planet full of civilians. Granted, the Alderaanian government was known to harbor rebels, but being born on a planet with a corrupt government didn't make one guilty. But Tarkin had been itching for a chance to demonstrate the new super-weapon, and Princess Leia (the poor girl, it really didn't matter what she said) had given him just the excuse he was looking for. Piett had to find a way to stop this.

"Ten minute security camera gap is now in progress. Everyone is required to remain where they are unless ordered to do otherwise by a superior officer," the announcement sounded over the intercom. (Glitches like that were a complete nuisance, in Piett's opinion.) Piett had just finished shaving with an annoyed sigh when the door chime rang. He folded his razor (an antique silver affair he'd inherited from his foster father) and put it in his pocket. Wiping his face, he walked over to the door and opened it. Tarkin stood in the doorway, in his usual getup of uniform with carpet slippers. He pushed his way in passed Piett. Piett opened his mouth to say something, but Tarkin held up his hand. "I'm just here to inform you that you are being transferred to Vader's ship effective immediately," he said in a clipped tone.

"You have to give a week's notice. It's standard procedure," Piett argued. Tarkin smirked.

"Ordinarily, yes. But under the circumstances, I can more than justify the breach of procedure," he said.

"Sir?" Piett asked, nervously fiddling with the razor in his pocket.

"I know very well that you're thinking about trying to stop this demonstration. I won't have you interfering. Two billion people is a cheap price to pay to end all war for all time," Tarkin said.

Piett held in the eye roll with difficulty. "Do you really think-" he started.

"Enough. You have your orders." Tarkin started to turn away, then turned back with a lighthearted smirk. "Oh, and do try not to do anything foolish, after all, the trash compactors are the first place anyone would look for a body."

The words brought his foster father to Piett's mind. The man had been a barber, considered the best in the entire outer rim territories. But corrupt politicians had a habit of disappearing when they visited his shop. Piett, however, hadn't known about that until he'd watched through the window one time... Tarkin took a step towards the door. 'No, I have to stop him,' Piett thought. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed Tarkin's hair, yanking Tarkin back from the door. Heart pounding, not knowing what else to do, Piett brought out his razor and sliced open Tarkin's throat. (And wasn't he resembling his foster father now? Piett had seen him do this very same thing with this very same razor to a man that had tried to hurt Piett...) Spurting blood brought him back to the present moment. Panicking, Piett grabbed the comforter off his bed and threw it onto the steadily growing pool as Tarkin tried to open the door while holding a hand over his throat. Piett lunged at the lock, getting to it just in time. 'Now what?' he wondered. 'Surely they WILL check the garbage masher.' But...wasn't there a big, industrial-sized meat grinder in most of the kitchens?

Deciding that was probably his only option, he put the razor back in his pocket and tore open Tarkin's jacket as the man began to collapse. Supporting Tarkin's dead-weight and listening to his last few gurgles while stripping his clothing off definitely made Piett's list of Things That Aren't Fun. (He'd never been more thankful for Tarkin's habit of wearing carpet slippers, but he'd seen more of Tarkin than he'd ever wanted to.) Piett had to drop Tarkin right into the blood pool in order to grab his large, plastic laundry bag. Trying to hoist Tarkin's body into it without getting it bloody proved interesting, with limbs going everywhere except where he wanted them to, leaving him lamenting over how long it took.

He wiped the blood off of himself as best he could in a hurry. Looking at the clock, he saw he still had six minutes left before the security cameras came back online. Picking the bag up and hoisting it over his shoulders, he carefully opened the door and stepped out around the blood. Thankfully, there was a dining hall just down the hall. With any luck, it would have a meat grinder he could put the corpse through and dump it into the kitchen scraps. No-one would think to look there. He moved as quickly as he could with his burden. The dining area was dark, but there was a light in the kitchen. Being as quiet as he could, Piett crept up to the door and peered in. He was in luck, it had a meat grinder and it was deserted. He headed for the grinder and saw some meat already ground in a bowl in front, a big nerf flank waiting on a table behind.

Piett carefully hoisted the bag into the meat hopper, turning it around with difficulty until Tarkin's body tumbled out. The grinder immediately came to life, reducing the body to a thick red paste that fell out into the bowl. Piett gagged, looking for the scrap pile. It was right next to the employee entrance, in a large trashcan. He'd just gotten to it when he heard the door open. He ducked behind it. Peeking out, he saw a female kitchen worker put on a pair of clear gloves and toss the nerf flank into the hopper, not bothering to check it. When the worker went into the walk-in refrigerator, Piett took his chance and darted out the door. Thankfully, it lead to the same hallway as the dining room entrance.

He ran as quickly as he could back to his room. Running in, Piett nearly tripped over the bloody comforter. Looking at the clock, he saw he had one minute to spare. He took a moment to catch his breath. Thankfully, he only had the dull dark grey standard issue linens in his room. The industrial-strength detergent they used in the military usually made short work of blood, and any leftover stains would be hidden with the dark color. (He'd discovered that during his training, fresh from the Axxilan force. Until now, he'd been rather resentful of the not-a-friend that had left him high and dry to take the punishment for that prank, a week in the laundry room.) He just had to clean up the walls and floor well enough for maintenance not to notice when they came in to clean the room for the next occupant. The cleaning agents that maintenance used were also extremely harsh, so it would make short work of whatever invisible residue was left. "Ten minute security gap is now over. You are now free to move about the station." (Piett thanked whatever god would listen for the glitch in the security system.)

Piett gathered Tarkin's clothing up with the comforter and shoved them into his laundry bag. He hauled them across the hall and dumped them into the laundry shoot. The shoot would deposit it straight into big, industrial-sized washing machines, where it would be washed automatically as soon as it was full. (He took a moment to bless automation, which might actually give him enough time to escape.) Cleaning the rest of the mess took two hours and every last sheet and towel he possessed. He felt he should be tired, but he was filled with nervous energy.

The door chimed again, and Piett jumped. "Maintenance," a voice called out. Piett opened the door to find a bright-faced young man with a cleaning cart. "Tarkin's orders. You're getting transferred. Congratulations."

"Yes, he told me a few minutes ago, thank you," Piett replied, trying to appear tired. Giving the floor and walls one last cursory glance, he let the kid in.

Seeing the stripped bed, the kid said, "Oh, you didn't have to do that, sir, that's what I'm here for."

"It wasn't any problem. I don't like leaving messes," Piett answered. "I just have a few things to pack, then I'll be out of your way."

"Take your time. There's a shuttle waiting for you in docking bay 63," the kid said. Nodding, Piett got his bag from the closet and folded his clothes into it. He tended to pack light, so there was only a spare uniform, a dress uniform, and few changes of skivvies. Next, he carefully packed up his foster father's antique barber set. A few framed pictures were tucked between the clothes, and he was ready.

"Have a good evening," he called to the kid as he grabbed the laundry bag with the bloody sheets and towels.

"You too sir," the kid answered, and the door closed between them. After depositing the last of the laundry, Piett started down the hall. He paused by the dining area. He really hadn't meant to turn half the ship into unwitting cannibals, but there was nothing he could do about it now without getting caught. Maybe he should just turn himself in... to Lord Vader? Forcing himself to start walking again, he tried to put it out of his mind. Humans weren't poisonous, and it wasn't like he'd done it maliciously. He'd only wanted to save civilian lives. If he was questioned about Tarkin's disappearance, he'd tell the truth. If not, he'd try not to worry about it. A few minutes later, he was strapped into a seat and the shuttle was taking off. Overall, this seemed to be going way too smoothly. Piett almost wished the other shoe would just drop already.

Vader had hurried to docking bay 63 as soon as he saw the transfer notification. However, he appeared to be too late. He turned on his heel and stalked back to his temporary office aboard the Death Star. He didn't know how Tarkin had managed to find out about his plan to get Lieutenant Commander Piett to help Vader assume command by questioning Tarkin's sanity, but he had somehow. Vader would have to think of some other way to stop Alderaan's destruction.


End file.
